once upon a dream
by Tamer of Light
Summary: "Trust No One" alternate ending. "Being a Cahill doesn't mean you can't trust anyone, Amy."


Her fingers tighten around bare skin. It's gone. The one thing she had left of Grace given away to the Vespers. She let them have it. Liquid thorns prick her eyes, twisting her vision, and she has to squeeze them shut because it hurts too much. They hang on the threads of her lashes, draining her even more and she's tired of it all. Tired of being tired. Tired of being lied to. Tired of running. Tired of being afraid. It could all be over if she wanted it. Her safe place is just beyond her grasp.

She glances over shoulder at the bed, before turning back to the window. Her heart is nothing more than a beating rock. She can't feel anything, but pain. Sinead's betrayal. Alistair's last words. The barrel of a gun clicked against Nellie's head. Poor Phoenix. Her throat closes up and she finds herself gasping for air, fingers clawing at her neck and she's trying so hard to breathe. Tears twinkle against pale cheeks and she feels like she's about to burst, every vein is twisting and turning underneath her skin.

Stumbling back, her head is spinning and her heart is strumming so wildly she can't hear anything, but the pounding of her blood, trying to keep her body standing. Her chest is heaving so hard, she thinks her heart is trying to run away and all she can do is try to stay out of the dark.

No one hears her on the verge of falling away until warm hands cover hers, pulling them away from the icy skin of her neck. _Breathe_, he whispers against strands of red, two hands cupping her cheeks. Her mouth opens to inhale a large gulp and life desperately rushes back into her veins, flooding her with sensation.

"Shh," he whispers, gently drawing her towards the bed even as her breathing is harsh and clumsy.

Amy sits shoulder to shoulder with him, her head leaning against his and their hands still joined on her thigh and she likes the heat that drifts through the fabric of her jeans. "You came," she says after a few minutes of silence.

"Yeah."

"Why?" She barely hears it herself and there's such a long pause after that she's not even sure he heard her question.

Ian blows a quiet sigh. "For you."

"I didn't call you."

"No," he agrees, watching her carefully. "But I had a feeling."

"That she was the mole?"

It tumbles out before she can stop it. That might not have been the reason why he came, why he had a _feeling_, of all things, but she's not in the right state of mind to be analyzing _them_ at the moment. She doesn't have to look at him to know. His silence is answer enough and her heart grinds against her ribcage with a shrill clamor. Her stomach stirs so violently that she has to force herself to keep it down. Everything they've ever done up until this point. All the information they found, every lead and clue they ever had, everything went through Attlesboro - through Sinead Starling.

And the tears return with an excruciating vengeance.

"It's okay, you know," he finally says after letting her stir long enough in her biting thoughts.

She shakes her head against the soft cotton of his shirt, before murmuring. "No, it isn't."

"I'm the leader of the Cahills, Ian. I shouldn't have—"

His fingers tighten around hers as he lifts her head. "Shouldn't have what? Been a normal girl for once in your life? Been _human_?

Last I checked, Sinead was your best friend. She was family. She was one of us." When he sees her jade eyes watering again, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and hugs her closer. "She's just lost her way."

She breathes again, the familiar musk of Ian Kabra reminding her of things so long ago, before their lives belonged to a psychotic group of sociopaths bent on destroying the world. "She almost killed me - _us_. She made me hate you."

A bitter smile tilts the corners of his lips. "Lucian. I suppose we aren't real Cahills until we've all tried to kill each other at least once."

"Ian." Her tone makes him straighten.

"I lost my way once. For a good thirteen years of my life, I was lost." He feels her fingers clench around a corner of his shirt and continues. "If there's anyone that can help her, it's you."

His gaze drops to her face again and he shoots her a small smile with a quirk of his eyebrows. "After all, you managed to save a Kabra, did you not?"

"Since when were you so wise?"

"Being in the wild does things to a man," Ian retorts easily, honeyed eyes glinting with something she can't quite identify.

An eyebrow lifts as she regards him thoughtfully. "Like how you, Ian Kabra, are wearing cotton instead of silk?" Amy pinches his short sleeve, before letting it snap back into place. "I didn't know you knew cotton existed," she teases.

He rolls his eyes and nudges her with his shoulder. "Hilarious."

"Did the South American jungle make you a _wild_ man now?"

"Are you finished, Cahill?" He pokes her waist, smirking when she jumps back with a squeal.

"Did you hear about—"

"Yes," he cuts her off and that's all that needs to be said. They don't say anything for a long moment in honor, letting the loss wash over. Another one of their own is gone.

"Being a Cahill doesn't mean you can't trust anyone, Amy."

The use of her name makes her head jerk up and she looks at him with surprise. His eyes are locked onto hers and she sees something akin to fondness patiently staring back at her. Her head gives a sudden twirl again and she swallows hard, trying to regain the use of her voice.

"Don't let this life control you."

And he's so, so close, the sheer inches between them overwhelm her senses. Anticipation swarms her stomach, tightening the surface of her skin and somewhere in those seconds of time, her heart slows to a trembling beat, then a stop. He's only a breath away when she instinctively edges closer, her eyes falling closed and she waits. His lips brush her forehead so softly she isn't sure it happened.

Amy jolts awake, panting for air as she registers that she's still in the hotel room. Her hand hovers over her heart and it's practically hammering away in her chest. Everything is so hot and stuffy that she has to throw the covers off, before sitting up.

Her other hand tenses into a fist and a frown crosses her face when she notices that Dan isn't in his bed and she's alone. Lying back against the headboard, she reaches up to touch her forehead and feels the skin tingle.

_Ian_.

* * *

**A/N: **Was it reality or a dream? My heart hurts, but I will sail this ship until my dying day.


End file.
